It Goes On and On
by Elendraug
Summary: Frodo realises just how much he needs Master Samwise. Slash. Sam Frodo.


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It Goes On and On

By StarWolf

6/24/2003; edited 4/25/2004

Title: It Goes On and On**  
Author: **StarWolf

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Rating: PG, if even

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Warnings: Out-of-character-ness, a disgusting amount of fluff

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Pairing: Sam/Frodo

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Genre: Fluff. And lots of it.

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Disclaimer: Tolkien's, not mine.

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Distribution: No archiving allowed.

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Summary: Frodo realises just how much he needs Master Samwise.

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Authoress' Note: I hadn't finished the books when I wrote this.

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He was there for me the instant that Sméagol dragged me out of the water. Decrepit, gunky, nasty stuff it was -- clouded my eyes, choked my nostrils, stuck in my throat. But he was there.

Sméagol heaved me out and onto the cool dirt; strange how until this moment I loathed the ground. Now I'm just relieved that it was there, not the cold, biting surface of the murky water. Images float through my mind; appropriate, since those hideous dead bodies floated as well. 

Ugh.

He was there. He pulled me into a tight embrace, and held me close until all of the water from my soaked clothes had dampened his. Until my breathing slowed and normalized, he was there, whispering soothing words into my ears.

"Shh, Mr. Frodo. It's okay. You're okay. We'll be alright..."

I want to tell him that it's not okay. That I have a terrible premonition that we -- him, Sméagol, and myself -- are not going to survive this.

I don't.

Instead, I bury my face into his chest, inhaling sharply, and mumble about how he doesn't need to call me 'mister.' It's polite, but rather annoying, as we've been best friends since...

...well, I don't remember. But that means something in itself, that I can't remember how long it's been.

He doesn't answer my complaint, but continues to speak softly to me, smoothing out my wet hair and attempting to untangle the hopeless knots. Even I don't know exactly what I said, so I don't expect him to respond.

I'm tired. So very tired. Emotionally, physically, and mentally. I could just fall asleep right here...I almost do, but the cruelness of reality strikes me just as I'm about to doze off. We have to keep going, because we're being hunted. And by undead and powerful beings, nonetheless.

Oh, Eru. Why did it have to _me_ of all people? Bilbo's adventure was one thing, but this...this isn't an adventure. This torture. Hell on Earth.

Someone let me _out!_

At least he's here with me. Even in the darkest and most bleak times of this harsh journey, he's been here. Countless nights that I've cried myself to sleep, he's been there to hold me, comfort me, relax me. Reassure my doubtful mind, even if he doesn't truly believe his own words. Oh, optimism. The ability to make things sound possible even when all chance of success has gone completely out of the window. Even when you _know_ that it's hopeless and you don't believe yourself anymore.

Oh, Sam. Thank Eru you're here. I would've died back in Rivendell if not for you. Before then, actually. I can't even begin to wonder what could have happened if you weren't traveling with me.

You know I don't mean to hurt you, but you know what it means to me -- to my heart. I would die without you, but... Sam, I don't want _you _to die. I don't want you to have to brave Mordor with me. I wish you could be safe, back in Hobbiton, and not facing danger with every step we take. And yet...

It's still true. I'm glad that you're with me, Sam. Thank Varda for that. I'll never stop being grateful for all the wonderful things that your friendship has brought me. 

He still runs his fingers through my soggy hair, caresses my face, talks gently to console my restless spirit. I'm anxious, and in a very bad way. I know it, I just know it...we're not going to survive. I _know_ it. And it's not helping in the least.

Stay with me, Sam. Hold me until I sleep. Maybe your presence will stop the constant nightmares...

"I can't go any further. Please, can we rest?" My voice begs and commands simultaneously, and I already know the outcome. Sam would fight a thousand Orcs for me, but he knows as well as I that we have to keep going. We can't stop...not now, anyway. We have to get somewhere reasonably safe. Some remote area that the Nazgûl wouldn't instantly look for us in.

Heh. Good luck to us if we can find such a place -- if it even _exists_.

"Master must goes with us, precious. We mustn't stop here -- they _knows _that we are heres. They will _finds_ us, Master. The Master can't sleep now -- hurry, Hobbitses!"

Sméagol, who is scarily enough acting as the voice of reason, is absolutely right. And how I hate that fact. Why? Why can't we just _stop_ for once? Stop the rushing, the worrying, the running, the hiding. I mentally ask the rhetorical question, though I know the reasons.

Instead of voicing this, I curl up closer to Sam. I'm still cold, but I can't find the willpower to complain. What's the point? No one would be able to _do_ anything about it. We can't make a fire -- not here. I think I'll just save my breath; I seem short of it at any rate.

"Sam..." I croak out, sleep leadening my limbs. I don't want to move...don't make me get up....

Though I didn't really ask him of anything, he knows. Sam always seems to know what I want -- regardless of what I do and do not say aloud. He lifts me into his arms, and carries me, as well as our limited supplies (which are still quite heavy), behind Gollum. 

Thankfully, the dejected creature's strange gait isn't all _that_ fast, so it is easy for poor Sam to keep up. I shield my face from the sun by pressing my nose into Sam's neck. He's so much warmer than I am. That's what I get for eating next to nothing for weeks on end.

Sam starts humming a Hobbit song that I instantly recognize -- it's Bilbo's old one. The words are so true that they apply to almost any situation. Strange. I smile as he quietly sings the words:

"The Road goes ever on and on

Down from the door where it began

Now far ahead the Road has gone

And I must follow if I can

Pursuing it with weary feet

Until it joins some larger way

Where many paths and errands meet

And whither then, I cannot say."

As soon as he finishes the verse, he repeats it again. Considering that I only sung it once or twice and that he's already learned the whole thing...

...wow.

I couldn't do that. Well, not that quickly, anyway. And people say that he's slow. Hah. 

Right.

I grin against his shoulder.

Thank you, Samwise Gamgee.

For everything.

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End file.
